


Discovering The Shortcut

by TellMeNoAgain



Series: So Much Trouble [13]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Domestic Discipline, Dominance, Fix-It, M/M, Peter is Mad at Himself, Power Imbalance, Spanking, Starker D/s, Submission, Tears, Tony Knows How to Make It Better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21720022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: Read at your own risk.  This? This is LEGAL-AGE D/S. I'm so proud of how we've grown.Uh, it accidentally became Choose Your Own Adventure.  You can skip to Chapter 2 if you want to read this through Tony's eyes first.~~~“If I have to take you down,” Mr. Stark tells him, voice clearly warning, and normally that would be doing things for Peter, things that make him weak, but his anger overwhelms everythingnormalabout him.  He just glares as the man stands there, and his hatred of everything is making it hard to breathe, a palpable hatred that rests deep in his chest and pulses as Mr. Stark continues talking, the words slow and heavy,  “I will.  I don’t mind.  It would be a pleasure.  But I’m guessing there’s another way to deal with this tantrum you’re throwing, and hear me out, you can ask for it.”“It’s not a tantrum,” shouts Peter, his voice choking, the words ripped from him, and fuck, he wasn’t going to give the man anything.  “God, Mr. Stark, I’m notfive.”
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: So Much Trouble [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562707
Comments: 21
Kudos: 155





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read because I have no patience.
> 
> Triggers aplenty here, let me know if I missed one and I can add more tags and warnings.
> 
> NOT ENDGAME COMPLIANT. (Let's be real here, this AU is barely MCU compliant.)
> 
> Dead Dove Warning finally! Finally! We're here! Starker D/s! 
> 
> For prudes, these are fictional characters and I've double checked, no one actually has a skeevy real-life relationship as a result of this series, so, like, relax. No one is going to get hurt. They're not real.
> 
> THERE WILL BE SEXY SPANKINGS, but this is not that chapter. 
> 
> GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF AFTERCARE courtesy of @LokisLonelyLady, who spoke up in the comments bravely and requested what she wanted. Although lady, I promise this is not the edging-yellow-aftercare scene I have half-written just for you. But you deserved some aftercare, and so did Peter.

The lab door slides shut behind him and Peter is irrationally angry that it won’t fucking slam. He feels irrationally angry at everything, at fucking everything.

Peter just fucking hesitated his way through that mission, _fuck_ , he doesn’t, he patrols just fine, this is, this is just fucking _unfair_ , why the fuck is he- Cap should read him the riot act at the debriefing tomorrow, he should, _fuck_ , it’s not that hard to _play nicely with others_. Peter glares around the lab, where he went straight off the jet, ripping off the broken webshooter and skimming out of the suit roughly, the rage welling up inside him. He kicks into a pair of StarkTech scrubs, from his drawer in the lab wall. He stares at the webshooter for a minute, a full minute, chest heaving with the force of controlling his anger, and then he hears a noise at the door and he’s snatching up the webshooter and throwing it against the wall. _Fuck._

“Peter,” says Mr. Stark, sharply. Just that, just his name, and he knows normally he’d be spinning, eager to respond, he knows that, but his hands clench into fists and he presses his knuckles onto the workbench. _Fuck_ , what is _wrong_ with him? He taps the bench, not, he’s not- it’s just a _tap_ , and Mr. Stark says, “FRIDAY, lock it down.”

Peter does whirl at that, as the walls go opaque and the “No Visitors” sign above the door illuminates, a joke, mostly, they used the lock down setting for _sex_ once, but also, it’s Bruce’s lab, too, here at the Compound, and it was designed to hold the Hulk. The only problem with it, here, today, is that Mr. Stark is on the wrong side of that door. Peter glowers at him, fists at his side.

“If I have to take you down,” Mr. Stark tells him, voice clearly warning, and normally that would be doing things for Peter, things that make him weak, but his anger overwhelms everything _normal_ about him. He just glares as the man stands there, and his hatred of everything is making it hard to breathe, a palpable hatred that rests deep in his chest and pulses as Mr. Stark continues talking, the words slow and heavy, “I will. I don’t mind. It would be a pleasure. But I’m guessing there’s another way to deal with this tantrum you’re throwing, and hear me out, you can ask for it.”

“It’s not a tantrum,” shouts Peter, his voice choking, the words ripped from him, and _fuck_ , he wasn’t going to give the man anything. “God, Mr. Stark, I’m not _five_.” _Fuck_ , although you couldn’t tell that from the way he’d fucking fucked up that entire mission _hesitating,_ unable to make a single goddamn decision. _Jesus Christ,_ he’d even fucked up one of Clint’s best shots at a fast takedown in the first ten minutes.

“I threw a tantrum just last week and I’m pushing fifty,” Mr. Stark says briskly, his eyes never leaving Peter’s face, not even flinching at the volume. “Tantrums have nothing to do with age and everything-” he steps forward, just one step, and Peter tenses. Mr. Stark pauses, clearly that message was heard loud and clear, _good,_ and then continues, “everything to do with what’s going on inside that head.”  
  
Peter’s chest is heaving with the force of not screaming, of not taking out his anger on an innocent party, _fuck_ , he knows he’s going to fuck that up, too, because Tony is incapable of _not_ _pushing_.  
  
Mr. Stark takes another step closer and Peter tenses again and before he can stop himself, sure enough, he’s saying, “Fuck _off_ ,” and there is venom coating each word. _Fuck._ He doesn’t want to hurt Tony, he doesn’t want to, but he needs-

Mr. Stark shakes his head and says, “Not gonna happen, Peter. I made you a promise that I wouldn’t let you get trapped in that pretty little head and I’m keeping it.”

“Fuck _off,_ ” repeats Peter, louder this time, sharper, more raw, it makes his throat hurt to throw it at Mr. Stark but he does it anyway.

“My lab,” Mr. Stark reminds him, and there’s no mocking in his tone, not like there should be, not like there always is when nothing’s _wrong_ , and this is so fucked, Peter is just fucking everything up today, he is _fucked_.

“Then _let me out_ ,” shouts Peter, gesturing at the lockdown light above the door.

“No,” Mr. Stark tells him, calmly, like this is nothing, like they’re just talking, like Peter isn’t fucking everything up today. He takes two steps, this time, pausing only when Peter’s fists clench and tremble.  
  
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Peter shouts at him, raising his hands in a warding off gesture, and his voice breaks with the force of all the emotions raging through him.

“You won’t,” Mr. Stark says, calmly, and there’s no way he _knows_ that, _Peter_ doesn’t know that, there’s no way Mr. Stark can know that. “Kid, you think I don’t know exactly-” and he takes two more steps and Peter tosses his head and shuffles his feet, not backing down, not moving forward, just unable to hold still anymore, moving side to side. “-exactly,” continues Mr. Stark in the same calm tone, his eyes on Peter’s face, hands open beside him, “what you’re doing here? I told you, I can reverse engineer every single issue, been there, done that-”  
  
“I fucked up!” shouts Peter, and to his horror his voice is cracking “I could have- people needed me to- and I- _fuck-_ I just-” the memories of the recent fight rise up and choke off his voice and he stands there, chest heaving, muscles twitching with the need to go back and do it _right_ this time.

Mr. Stark nods, and Peter chokes on a sob, because there’s no way he knows, but Mr. Stark’s eyes say he does, he does know, and Peter can feel a crack in his anger. He ducks his head, struggling for more control over himself as Mr. Stark says, “Yeah, I know it feels like that. And Steve might have some more to say about hanging back if you need to, to see where you slot in, but he’s the best tactician in the two generations, Peter, he’s allowed to know more than you.”  
  
“That is _not_ -” protests Peter, his head coming up to challenge Mr. Stark with a glare.

“That is exactly what you’re mad about,” interrupts Mr. Stark, and now he’s close enough, within arm’s reach, Peter could slap that confidence off his face, that compassion out of his eyes. He doesn’t need fucking pity right now, he needs- he needs- _fuck_ \- “You’re used to working solo, and that’s not what you do anymore kid, and that means sometimes other people are going to see you not be perfect.”  
  
Peter’s breath catches on the last word, the crack in his anger threatening to become a gaping wound in his chest, and he spits out, glaring at the floor, “I’m not perfect, I’m not your fucking Perfect Peter Parker, sir, I’m so, I fucked up so bad, I just-” and somehow, Mr. Stark is in his personal space, and he’s raising his hands. Peter flinches, but Mr. Stark doesn’t stop, just puts two hands up to cup Peter’s chin, and raises it up to look at him. Peter closes his eyes and shakes his head, a small shake. His legs are trembling with the force of not running backwards, his hands with not knocking Mr. Stark across the lab.  
  
“Yes you are,” whispers Mr. Stark. “You’re still mine, you’re still my perfect Peter Parker. Even if you fuck up, even if people get hurt or disappointed, you’re still mine.”

Peter can feel the tears leak out with the first sob, some of the tension leaving his body. “N-no,” he protests angrily, hands rising to wipe his face, “N-no, this has nothing to do w-with _you.”_ He spits out the last word.  
  
“You’re right,” says Mr. Stark softly, gently, and Peter shakes his head against that sound, wishing he could just turn off his hearing. “This has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with you. But I think you should ask me for help.”

Peter’s eyes snap open, shocked. Mr. Stark is standing there, looking at him, and he says, “Yeah, look at me, kid. Think, use that beautiful brain. What’s the word for what you’re feeling, right now?”  
  
“Pissed,” Peter hisses at him, body tensing again, eyes glaring.

Mr. Stark shakes his head and says, “No. _Guilty_.”

Peter would wheel backward but Mr. Stark’s hands are wrapped around his jaw, holding him in place. He stares up at the man, and Mr. Stark looks calmly back. Peter looks and looks, until the anger is rising up in him again, and he spits, “So what, what are you- you can’t-”

“Ask, Peter,” interrupts Mr. Stark, calmly, his close gaze so dark and compassionate, and Peter’s heart starts racing.

 _He’s, he’s, he can’t be suggesting,_ thinks Peter wildly. His spidersenses spring to life, and the additional adrenaline, on top of all of everything today, hits like a jolt. He gulps, struggling to get on top of that jolt, struggling not to struggle in Mr. Stark’s grip.

“I am,” says Mr. Stark, and Peter has that sinking feeling that always comes when he realizes how fucking transparent he is to this man. “I know exactly how to help, I know exactly what you need, but I told you, you need to ask.”  
  
Peter’s eyes are frantic, searching Mr. Stark’s face for some sign that this is a joke, a sick joke, and he’s not seeing anything but calm assurance and compassion. They hadn’t, they’d talked, after Eddie, but it had been about, about _sexy_ spankings, not, not anything like- Peter swallows.  
  
Mr. Stark waits.  
  
Peter nods his head, but even as he does it, he knows it’s not good enough, Mr. Stark is waiting to be _asked_.

“I can take you down,” offers Mr. Stark, slowly, like he regrets even bringing it up again, “but I don’t want to. I want you to be a good boy, and ask.”

“Mr. Stark,” protests Peter, and his voice is still half-underwater with unshed tears and anger, but he’s able to talk and that’s- that’s a huge improvement already. “I have super strength, it’s, you could in no way take me down.” Like that’s what they’re talking about here, like that’s what’s important. _Like Mr. Stark can’t find a way, if he needs to_ , suggest the back of Peter’s brain with amusement.

Mr. Stark chuckles, his darkly amused chuckle, and says, “You just go ahead and think that.”

Peter’s heart is hammering. He opens his mouth and then the moment just hangs there, as Mr. Stark waits, his dark eyes calm and warm on Peter’s face, hands curled oh-so-gently against his jawline. He rubs Peter’s cheek with his thumb, and Peter takes an unsteady breath and gasps, “Please, Mr. Stark?”  
  
There’s an electric snap in Mr. Stark’s eyes, and Peter feels it shock into him, and he twitches, and Mr. Stark hums, “Yes, Peter Parker? Please what?”

Peter has no idea how to say everything he needs to say, but luckily, he’s, well, he’s done a lot of googling and it’s such a common scene, so he can kind of cobble together enough from his memory of his favorite stories to stammer, “I-I’ve been- I’ve been so- bad, Mr. Stark.”  
  
Mr. Stark hisses in a breath at that, sudden and immediate as soon as the sob “bad” leaves Peter’s lips. His gaze is menacing as he growls back, “Have you, Trouble, have you been such a bad toy, after all the spoiling I’ve done?”  
  
“S-spare the rod,” says Peter, wryly, nodding slightly. He’s not sure, not sure this is working, but he’s for fucking sure he’s distracted from his anger, so okay, point to Mr. Stark.  
  
Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow and says, “Hm.” His fingers dig into the flesh of Peter’s face just a little bit, he’s clearly done being gentle, and he says, “Well,” in that drawl that Peter loves so well, “I know how to fix that. But you’re going to have to ask, Trouble.” His eyes are cruel, mocking, and Peter closes his eyes, he can feel the flush burn up his neck, hit his cheeks, color his ears.

“I need- will you-” God, he doesn’t want to have to say the words, but words are so important, can’t there be better words than this for this act, this thing he wants? It’s so- the word is so, he’s not a _child_ , okay?

“I’m waiting, Mr. Parker,” reminds Mr. Stark, giving his jaw a little shake. “But not forever.”

“Spank,” gasps Peter, “Can you just, will you just- I need- Can we try, I feel so- please, I feel so _bad_.” His chest is heaving again, against everything he’s feeling, and it’s a shock and a relief when Mr. Stark drops his chin and wraps him up in a tight hug, crushing him, and says, “Good boy. Yes. You do need one, I can tell, you feel awful, and I can help with that.” 

There’s silence, a moment of silence that echoes in Peter’s head, and then Mr. Stark clucks his tongue and says, “But first you’re going to clean up the mess you made, what a tantrum,” and Peter freaks out a moment, thinking of the aftermath of the fight, before he realizes Mr. Stark is talking about the fucking webshooter.  
  
“Yes, sir,” he stutters. Mr. Stark smacks him on the hip, releasing him, and says, “Now,” in his firmest tone, and Peter jumps and goes to gather it up from the floor by the wall. 

It’s absolutely trashed and Peter feels a deep remorse add to the roil in his guts, as he clutches the pieces he can find and stumbles over to his workstation to dump them there. He’s not really paying attention to anything but following directions, so he’s lost track of where Mr. Stark is. His head swings around and then he’s caught, staring, his jaw dropping slightly. 

Mr. Stark is seated on the end of a lab bench, legs braced apart, and he snaps his fingers and points to the floor in front of him. “Here. Now, Trouble,” he snaps, and Peter’s body is in motion before he even registers the words.

Mr. Stark looks up at him from his seated position when Peter pauses, inches away, and that’s wrong. That’s so wrong, so Peter drops to his knees in between Mr. Stark’s feet. They’ve used this position- so many times- for so many other things, it’s natural and normal, but this time is different. This time Peter can’t look up, can’t lift his face for kissing, he’s looking down, his hands knotting together in front of him.  
“You should feel just like that,” says Mr. Stark, his voice full of censure. “It should be hard to look me in the eye right now. What a tantrum, what a childish-” Peter flinches “-way to get my attention.” He puts one single finger under Peter’s chin and Peter whimpers, he can’t help it, as Mr. Stark pushes his chin up. “Look up,” Mr. Stark hisses and Peter’s eyes flinch upwards.

“You are not a child, Peter Parker,” Mr. Stark tells him. “It’s not okay to destroy the things you’ve worked so hard to build because you had a bad day.”  
  
“N-” begins Peter, about to say who knows what, _certainly not him_ .  
  
“Sh,” commands Mr. Stark in a thunderous whisper, and he taps Peter on the lips with the finger that was under his chin. “Having a bad day is going to happen, I told you, you’re going to get things wrong-” Peter shifts uncomfortably and tries to look anywhere but in Mr. Stark’s eyes and gets his chin lifted again for all his troubles. Mr. Stark waits until he makes eye contact again before continuing.

“You’re going to get things wrong,” Mr. Stark tells him, “and sometimes people are going to get hurt- and then we’ll come here, and I’ll help you make your peace with it. We’ll put it away, do you understand me? That’s what we’ll be doing here. We’ll go until it’s put away, however long that takes.”  
  
Peter thinks about everything he’s read, everything he’s ever thought about, and then he thinks about Eddie in the kitchen, sniffling and apologizing, about how normal everything was, how free Eddie had seemed, after. He nods, a little hesitantly.  
  
“Words, Mr. Parker,” warns Mr. Stark.  
  
“Yes,” whispers Peter. “I understand. But-” his voice falters and he can’t push out more words around the lump in his throat.  
  
“But what, Mr. Parker?” Mr. Stark’s eyes, demanding and kind, bore into him.

“But- what-wh-what if it doesn’t work?” whispers Peter, and tears well up in his eyes. “Wh-what if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we try something else, until we find something that does. But I know you, Peter Parker, trouble-mine. I know you, and I know it will.” His eyes are blazing now, and Peter nods again, willing to put his trust in what they’ve talked about, in what Mr. Stark knows, in how Eddie had moved in the kitchen, all the tension bled out of him, laughing freely and shyly.

“Ready?” asks Mr. Stark. Peter snorts and shakes his head. “Color?” asks Mr. Stark and Peter is shocked, he doesn’t know why. “Even for this,” Mr. Stark tells him, calmly, before he can think to ask the question. “Even for this, it’s your choice. It has to be, Peter, it has to be your choice.”

“G-green,” stutters Peter, and feels some tension somewhere, between them, fade away.

“Good boy,” praises Mr. Stark. Peter shakes his head, the words failing to bring any sense of well-being, much less the euphoria he’s become used to. Mr. Stark shifts a second and says, with that dark and rich smirk in his tone, “And look, you’ve made the hard part the easiest part,” and then he’s hauling Peter up and draping the younger man over his lap and sliding the scrubs down almost in one single smooth move. Peter is shocked, absolutely shocked, at how fast, how smooth, and Mr. Stark chuckles again, his hand _resting on Peter’s bare ass_ , and says, “Funny how it all comes back to you. Just like building a suit.”  
  
Mr. Stark rest him there for a minute, and Peter tries not to squirm at how weird this feels, how wrong, he shouldn’t _want_ this, and then Mr. Stark says in a dark voice, “Why are we here?”

“Because I fucked up,” says Peter, willing to try for full participation here, and that’s- that’s the point of this exercise, right? Making him feel better about being such a fuck-up today.

Mr. Stark’s fingers tap on Peter’s ass and he says, his voice full of mocking disapproval, “Wrong. Try again.”

Peter tries to twist to look at him and Mr. Stark makes a noise of disapproval and twines his fingers through Peter’s hair, immediately pulling it tight, elbow on Peter’s back pushing him down, and growls, “You stay where I put you.”  
  
Peter gasps, “Yes, sir,” and holds himself still, breathing shallowly. After a second, the fingers in his hair relax and rest on his neck and Mr. Stark asks again, “Why are we here?”  
  
Peter shifts, awkwardly. At the angle Mr. Stark is holding him, he can barely touch the floor with his toes, as he ventures, “Because I got mad?”  
  
Mr. Stark makes a sound like a buzzer and slaps Peter on the ass and says, “Nope. Try again.”

  
“M-Mr. Stark,” whines Peter, he hates that voice, but he’s definitely whining, “I- I don’t know.”  
  
Mr. Stark sighs and says, “Well, that’s one answer. Tell you what, I’ll let my hand do some lecturing, and then we’ll talk again. You stay,” and his voice deepens into his truest growl, gravel filled and serious and Peter practically whites out hearing it, “where I put you.”  
  
Peter nods, frantically, and then gasps, “Yes, sir,” again, remembering to use his words.  
  
The hand leaves his butt, and that little slap earlier had not prepared Peter for what it feels like when it _lands_ . He splutters, as the thud shakes his whole frame and the sting lights a match on his ass in the exact pattern of Mr. Stark’s hand. “Sh-shit,” he swears, feverently.  
  
“Language,” grunts Mr. Stark, getting a better grip on him, apparently, and then there’s another thud and Peter thinks, wildly, that sometimes super sensitive is the worst ever, even when he knows the healing factor means he’s going to get off light.

And then there’s a third wallop, and Peter doesn’t think this is getting off light _at all._

Mr. Stark doesn’t say anything, just keeps drawing the hand away and thudding it down, and Peter starts hissing with each smack and then starts whimpering in between them, and fuck if he doesn’t choke on his breathing a couple of times, too. But he holds as still as he can, and thinks hard about Mr. Stark’s question when a pause gives him two brain cells to rub together.

“You’re doing so good,” Mr. Stark comments, after awhile, when Peter is whimpering and tears are leaking out of his eyes to land on the floor below him. His hand emphasizes the last two words and Peter moans. “So I think it’s time to try talking again. Why are we here, Peter?”

“I-I-I asked,” chokes Peter, as the hand switches to gentle swats that keep him focused but also let him, like, breathe, ok?

“Oh, clever, Mr. Parker,” praises Mr. Stark. “Yes. We’re here because you asked. Why did you ask?”

Peter feels his face flush with the praise, and moans a little. “I-I n-needed- OW- it?” he stutters.

“You did,” agrees Mr. Stark, his hand soothing, rubbing the sting in now, and Peter has to squirm, just a little, “And I am always, always, going to give you just what you need, I told you that, I am committed to getting you what you need, Mr. Parker.”

Peter flushes. He knows that, he does, he just, he just, he didn’t- this is so, he didn’t even know he- that _this_ was even like, an _option_ , ok-

“Stop. Thinking,” growls Mr. Stark, and Peter tenses, expecting a thump, and then, while Mr. Stark chuckles, he relaxes each muscle one by one until he’s back, draped over Mr. Stark’s lap again.

“So, Peter, I know why I thought you needed this,” and the hand starts gently swatting again, Peter mumbles something without words and pulls a hand up to scrub his eyes. “But why do you?”

“I broke the web shooter,” says Peter at random.

Mr. Stark gives him a thump, unexpected, and he cries out. Mr. Stark says calmly, “Destroying the things you’ve worked so hard to build is stupid, and dangerous, and it won’t happen again, I’m making sure of it, trust me, Mr. Parker, you’ll find a different way to get my attention next time you need me, but that’s not why you need this.” He gives Peter’s ass another heavy thudding smack and Peter groans and splutters, tears falling from his eyes as he just, ok, _admits_ it, “I fucked up, today, at the- in D.C., I just- I didn’t do anything right, I was, fuck, Tony, I did everything wrong and Clint woulda had the guy but I wrecked his angle and-“

Mr. Stark abruptly lifts his knee, switching the angle, and then he pours kerosine on Peter’s thighs and lights it with a match, apparently, because _Holy shit_ that is _exponentially worse._ Peter is quickly overwhelmed and cries out, “Please, Please, Tony, sir, please,” and Mr. Stark replies, hardly even out of breath, how is that even possible, “Peter, your sit spot, sit spot, my hand, now that we’re all introduced, I’d appreciate it if you’d try to use your brain instead of your butt and answer my damn question, Peter.” Peter is absolutely sobbing, struggling for breath, when Mr. Stark lets him down and says, quieter, more conversationally, “Think, kid, you’re so smart. Was Clint pissed? Was I? Was anyone?”

Peter shakes his head, no, of course not, they’re all such fucking professionals- and then Mr. Stark raises his hand from Peter’s butt and he rushes to answer _out loud, with words, “_ No! No one was mad, no one was, everyone was- it was just me,” he whispers finally, his voice trailing off, gulping for air. “It was just me that was mad.”

“Yeah,” says Mr. Stark, rubbing his aching ass again, and it hurts like fuck but it’s also kinda soothing. “Yeah, kid, it was just you, eating yourself up, over two seconds that happen fifty times every fight, Clint always has to find another angle, fuck, 90% of the calculations I have FRIDAY running are just new angles.”

Peter takes this information in and it doesn’t sit well. It makes him feel, uh, well, not good, definitely not good. And he can kind of see how, how the rest of his responses, sort of, well, stem from that first moment and he’s not liking the picture playing out in front of his eyes.

“So let’s talk about _that,”_ says Mr. Stark, and the swats start again, and they _sting. Fuck_. “That’s called, getting trapped in your own head because you think you need to be perfect, and so help me God, if it takes talking to your butt because you won’t listen to me any other way, we’re going to work on that. That’s unreasonable. I understand it, I know where it comes from, but you’re going to do better. What does Cap say you need to do when you need a moment to re-group?”

Peter is crying, his chest heaving, and he mumbles, “g’way, g’back.”

“Yes, good boy. And did you give yourself that moment today? When Cap ordered you back, did you go?”

Peter shakes his head, helplessly. Mr. Stark’s hand thuds down and he yelps, “No, no sir.”

“Mm. Because you’re perfect and you don’t need a minute.”

Peter knows his face is flushing and he opens his mouth to say something but only sobs come out. “‘M sorry,” he gasps eventually, “‘m sorry!”

“You should be,” says Mr. Stark ruthlessly. “We know what you need, what any of us needs, everyone gets told to regroup, but you have to listen to us.”

Peter nods and whimpers, “Yes, sir, ok.”

“So, the reason you are here-“ and another huge swat lands and Peter moans, he can’t help it- “is what? Aside from that absolutely. aw. ful. temp. er. tan. trum. earlier,” and he punctuates every single syllable of the last words with a hard smack that rings through the lab, and then waits for Peter to be done sobbing to hum inquisitively. 

“‘M, ‘m not supposed to get mad at myself?” Whimpers Peter tentatively, biting his lip.

“Close,” concedes Mr. Stark. “How about, try, when I mess up, and I need help, I’m supposed to ask for help.”

_Oh._

“Oh,” says Peter, stupidly.

“Yeah, oh,” mocks Mr. Stark. “So let’s let that sink in a little, color?”

Peter seriously thinks about lying but figures that would just lead to more guilt and then more- well, he just thinks better of it and says, “Green.”

“Good boy. Think about why you’re here,” instructs Mr. Stark, and then he _applies himself_ and Peter is pretty much only thinking _OW._ and _FUCK!,_ but he’s not confessing that ever.

It lasts _forever_ , and Peter is promising to be so good, apologizing and promising and apologizing, whenever he can gather the brain cells to not just sob, and seriously how is this Mr. Stark’s goddamn _hand_? He abruptly revises almost every fantasy he’s ever had involving pain, apparently he cannot, in fact, even manage a spanking without completely losing his butt to a bonfire.

Eventually Peter realizes it’s stopped, and Mr. Stark is rubbing soothing circles on his back, humming softly, a nonsense little tune that’s, well, it doesn’t jangle against Peter’s eardrums, it’s _soothing_ . Peter concentrates on breathing, then, breathing and getting the sobs under control and maybe, maybe _growing back some bones_. 

Mr. Stark murmurs, “You back with me, Trouble?” 

And Peter nods, and then croaks, “Yessir.”

Tony hums, his fingers never stopping their little caresses. “Color?” He asks, after another long moment.

“Green,” croaks Peter. 

“Your butt says red,” teases Mr. Stark, gently, everything right now is so gentle, even his voice is soft, “but we’ll test that to see if it’s a lie on another day, for fun, you’ll see, this can- will- be fun too, but that’s not what you needed today, was it?” His tone sounds sympathetic and every one of Peter’s nerves abruptly loosens and he’s crying again, even if it’s quieter.

Mr. Stark makes a noise and then he’s shifting Peter up and up, sliding the scrubs up over his hips gently, twisting Peter’s aching body until he’s straddling Mr. Stark’s thighs, his butt resting between Mr. Stark’s knees.

Tony leans forward and kisses Peter gently and then leans their foreheads together and says, “Hey, you ok in there?”

Peter snorts and mumbles, “My butt’s on fire and I have to go apologize to like _everyone_ for being an ass, and I’m, I’m so sorry, Tony.”

“I’ve got you,” Tony says, eyes open when Peter looks across their noses at him, calm and cool and so collected. “I told you, I’m not going to let you get trapped in your head, and you are not the first perfectionist young man I’ve ever pulled onto my lap for a quick perspective re-alignment, not by a long shot. Comes with the subby, sometimes.”

Peter twitches and says, “I’m so weird, Tony.”

“Unique, maybe,” offers Tony. “But handcrafted, everything I love best.”

Peter takes a deep breath and sighs it out. Some of the remaining tension leaks out and Tony presses another kiss to his lips. “C’mon, let’s go lay down on the couch, you’ve had the worst kind of day.”

Peter shakes his head, he wants to stay right here forever, in this bubble of safety Tony has made for him, where even this really weird stuff that he wants is ok, really ok. “Hey,” says Tony, his voice coaxing, “I promise, I won’t go anywhere, I just want to stretch out with you, Peter.”

Peter can feel the pout form on his lips and so he bites his lower lip. Tony says, “It’ll be just as good, I promise, I don’t lie to you Peter.”

So Peter nods, and Tony places him on his feet gently, and Peter kind of wobbles there until Tony stands up, too, and says, gently, “Ten steps,” and then wraps his arms around the younger man in a modified frog march, and moves them both to the couch. He kicks off his shoes, grabs a blanket from a wall drawer, and slides onto the couch, scooting way back, and then makes grabby hands at Peter. Peter clumsily climbs on top, hissing when the fabric of the scrubs slides across the hot Sahara desert that is his ass. 

“Shh,” soothes Tony, wrapping Peter up in his limbs, so careful to avoid his ass, tucking Peter tight against his chest, and carding fingers gently through Peter’s hair. He throws the blanket over both of them -the motion is jarring and Peter moans- and it settles, featherlight, against the skin of Peter’s exposed back. Peter can feel tears leak out again and Tony kisses his eyelids and says, “Shh, just relax, I’ve got you. Shh.”

Peter loses track of how much time they spend there, like that, Mr. Stark’s hand rubbing soothing patterns on his back, Peter’s breathing evening out, the blanket heating up with their combined warmth, reflecting it back to both of them. Long enough that Peter’s nose is plugged with snot and his eyes feel like sandpaper and he’s thinking, well, straighter than he’s thought in several hours. 

He shifts, and Tony releases him a little, and Peter lifts his head for a kiss, whispering, “Thank you.”

“For this?” asks Tony mischievously, “Or for the spanking?”

“For everything,” Peter tells him seriously.

“Mm, ok,” says Tony, and gives him another gentle kiss. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You did,” Peter assures him, and he’s still just a bit embarrassed and surprised by it. He thinks for a minute and says, “Did you, with Eddie, was it like-“

“Oh God,” groans Mr. Stark, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling with a pained expression, “ _Eddie._ I won’t break confidentiality, I know you’re not asking me to do that-“ and Peter shakes his head vehemently- “but in some ways, yes, and in some ways, no. I always make sure whoever’s over my lap knows the reason we’re there, let’s just say that. And just like you today, Eddie was surprised to find out it wasn’t why he thought it was.”

Peter is unaccountably comforted by this statement and wiggles just a bit closer to Mr. Stark. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, against the other man’s throat.

“I’m not,” Mr. Stark assures him, and Peter blinks. “What, did you think I’m such close friends with Kevin because I like his cheesecake connection?” Peter giggles, he really tries not to but it leaks out, and Mr. Stark smiles fondly and continues, ”I like that I can do this for -with- you, that we have this shortcut we can use. Peter, you trust me with so much- so much, it floors me. It guts me, how much you trust me. And I am always, always going to give you what you need. You don’t have to apologize for it, I love it.”

Peter is staring at him, shaken, and then he closes his mouth and kisses the older man, and tries to put all of his feelings into it. “Yeah,” huffs Mr. Stark after a second, “yeah, me too, kid, ditto. You’re mine, now, Trouble, the whole kit and kaboodle.” Peter nods, happily, and lets his head rest back on Mr. Stark’s bicep as they breath together.

“The web shooter was already broken,” says Peter, abruptly, after an unknowable amount of time has passed just laying there, draped and boneless, listening to Mr. Stark’s heartbeat. “It got borked like, that third pass.”

“Oh, that makes so much more sense,” laughs Mr. Stark. “I thought- well, you still shouldn’t throw things, but seriously my perfect Peter Parker, I thought-“

“I figured,” agrees Peter without any hint of censure. “I won’t, you don’t have to worry, I’ll come to you, first, before, because it worked, but I wanted you to know, too. It doesn’t change anything,” he offers, having already thought it through.

“No,” laughs Mr. Stark, “it was still a bratty little tantrum, worthy of Eddie, Mr. Parker. Regardless of when it first broke, it didn’t deserve that treatment.”

Peter blushes and says, “I was just so mad,” but that anger feels far away and wrapped up in cotton now. He knows he was mad but there’s nothing but this quiet golden calm now.

“Mm. Well, behave. Come to me, I’ll help,” warns Mr. Stark, and Peter melts into him and murmurs, “Of course, yessir. I- I didn’t-“

“Shh,” says Mr. Stark, rubbing a hand along his back. After another long, smooth moment, he hums and says, “What was that about apologizing to everyone?”

“Mm?” Peter keeps finding his eyes have closed, that he has to open them, and he tilts his head back to look up, shamefaced, into Mr. Stark’s inquisitive eyes. “Oh, just, I was a jerk, should say sorry about that. Y’know.”

Mr. Stark makes a quiet scoffing noise and says, “If that was you being a jerk- Peter, did you even snap at anyone? Do you think anyone was hurt by your sulking the whole trip home?”

“No-o,” mumbles Peter, ears burning and face burrowing into Mr. Stark’s chest. He wasn’t _sulking_ , God, there has to be better language for these things than s-spanking and sulking, _ew_.

“And we’ve already established no one was mad,” teases Mr. Stark, tapping Peter’s ass with one hand. Peter hisses, “No-oo,” because his healing factor ramps up proportional to the damage, ok? It’s not like, like instantaneous. Ow.

“So what in the world do you think you’ll be apologizing for, and tread carefully little spider, I can go all night if we need to.” There’s another pat and Peter squeaks, he definitely squeaks, and clutches at Mr. Stark’s shirt, which is still damp with tear stains.

Peter stills and says, in a wry voice, “Well obviously I was going to apologize for not being perfect but I see the error of my ways, Mr. Stark, and I probably won’t, now.” He loves the way he can feel Mr. Stark’s dark chuckle start low in his belly, and shake his chest, before it erupts into Peter’s ear. He presses one ear to Mr. Stark’s chest and sighs, melting a little into the next golden moment.

“Smart spider,” murmurs Mr. Stark., and his hand rubs Peter’s back again, which feels amazing and dissolves all of Peter’s bones.

They lay like that for a long time, long enough for the adrenaline rush to turn into a heavy stupor, and Peter knows he’s been dozing on and off. If there’s one thing the past few weeks have taught him, it’s that if Mr. Stark wasn’t happy holding him, he’d speak up, so Peter can’t even work up concern about wasting all this time. It doesn’t feel like time wasted, when Mr. Stark finally stirs a bit and says, “Hey, how are you doing, you hungry?”

Peter rubs his eyes and mumbles, “I could eat.” Because yeah, he could totally eat.

FRIDAY chimes and says, “Pepper is having shawarma delivered in approximately 30 minutes, gentleman, as is traditional when Loki goes completely off his rocker. There’s some being delivered to the suite.”

Mr. Stark laughs, and Peter burrows into his chest for a moment before muttering, “Shower?” because he still has fight funk, God, how embarrassing. He loves the way Mr. Stark smells right now, loves the smell of his sweat in ways that are probably _not right_ , but Peter doesn’t care, not right now, it’s hard to care about anything, he feels pretty, pretty perfect, actually, minus the nuclear glow radiating off his butt.

“Yeah, ok,” sighs Mr. Stark. “That’ll probably be good, too.” Peter smiles a bit, hearing this confirmation that Mr. Stark is enjoying this golden glowy cuddling stuff, too. “Ok, up, Trouble,” teases Mr. Stark after another long moment. “Let’s go find out how much hot water is gonna singe that sunburn.”

Peter chokes, “Mr. Stark!”

“What, Mr. Parker?” he teases back, patting Peter on the hip and lifting them both into a sitting position. Peter’s healed enough he doesn’t yelp, but it’s close. He takes a deep breath and stands, and Mr. Stark is right there, like he knows how close Peter wants to cling and he’s fine with it. Mr. Stark does what he wants, so he’s totally fine with it, Peter reassures himself, as they walk to the lab shower.

“I’ve got you,” Mr. Stark murmurs. “Stop worrying.”

Peter smiles at that, and turns on the water, sliding the scrubs off his butt with a hiss. He's definitely still _affected_.

“What a lovely shade of pink,” coos Mr. Stark, teasing, pulling off his watch and putting it on a shelf. Peter flushes and he laughs, “Oh look, both sets of cheeks can color coordinate, nice feature!” Peter shoves him a little, and he laughs again, shucking his clothes with much less care that his accessories. 

“Get in,” Mr. Stark tells him, and then burst into laughter at the yelp Peter lets out as the water hits his raw butt and stings. “Serves you right, you shouldn’t be able to sit for a week,” he teases, “but with that amped up immune response, if I ever want you squirming when you sit for a week, I can tell it’s going to be through daily application of attention to your butt.” Peter flushes just thinking of how bad he’d have to be to get that, and then thinks of Mr. Stark saying this can be fun, too, and decides to ignore everything that’s not soap.

Mr. Stark wraps his arms around Peter and nuzzles his neck and says, “I’d be cautious about sulking, Mr. Parker,” and tickles his ribs until Peter is laughing out loud and kissing him.

“N-never, Mr. Stark,” he gasps, laughing up at the older man. “Never going to sulk, p-promise,” and he loves the possessive look in Mr. Stark’s eyes as the man looks down at him and says, “Perfect Peter Parker, if you do, I’ve got you. I’ll take care of it.” 

Peter nods happily and dumps some shampoo in Mr. Stark’s hair, scrubbing. They will. They’ll take care of it together, if it happens again. They’ve got an excellent shortcut worked out.


	2. Tony's Point of View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was an anonymous comment, and it was awesome, and it deserved a present. :)

Tony watches Peter out of the corner of his eye as he concentrates on bandaging Clint’s leg with quick, precise movements. The Quin is too full of people, and he misses the privacy of his personal jet, with all the rooms, because Peter is definitely sinking into the most anxious puddle of self-hatred Tony has ever seen, outside of his own mirror, circa 30 years ago. He’s bitten his lips almost bloody and he’s not lifting his eyes up to look at anybody. He’s curled up in his seat, StarkTech spider-sense noise cancelling earphones in, phone out, and radiating, “Leave me alone,” so loud it almost overpowers the din of everyone else celebrating a good mission.

Clint must be watching Tony watch, because he mumbles, “You gonna talk to him, because if not, I’m gonna do it, and I’m gonna dad so hard.” 

Tony snorts and snaps off a piece of tape and says, “Yeah, I got him. He’ll be fine until we get back.” 

Clint nods in easy agreement and says, “You think it was that leap from the hotel?”

“Yup,” and Tony pops the ‘p’ for emphasis. Clint winces, because he’s peripheral to Peter’s upset then, and nods, and then says, “Well, make sure he knows it happens all the fucking time, everyone fucks up my angles, you’re all so fucking selfish.”

“Bunch of big damn selfish heroes,” Tony deadpans at him, sanitizing his hands and wiping at the blood on the seat beside Clint.

“Thanks, man, you’re not Banner but you make a decent nurse,” quips Clint, and Tony flashes him a smile. Banner is stretched out in the medbed, passed out, as he should be, there was a lot of smash today.

“Me next,” calls Natasha from the cockpit. “Got a, uh, glaive scratch? Lower right thigh, outside.”

Tony grabs the anti-everything gel SHIELD uses, because who knows what Loki’s lackeys rub into their blades to make them look so glowy green, although not contact poison, clearly, and a roll of tape and gauze, and shimmies up into the cockpit. Natasha lifts her mic to say, “He doing any better, now that the adrenaline’s worn off a bit?”

No need to ask which  _ he _ she’s referring to. “No,” he says and she sighs, “Well, damn.” He nods and says, “How- when the hell did they-” 

She smiles and says, “There was that dance, right before Hulk grabbed Loki, you were busy, but I was on the left, and Hulk was helping me scatter the flunkies, and two of them tripped me up.”

“Clumsy of them,” murmurs Tony. It’s not deep, just a scratch, already closed up, but he douses it for good measure and then puts a line of gauze and a single strip of tape over it. Natasha makes a moue of agreement with her mouth. “You gonna talk to him when we land?” she asks, her voice indifferent.

“Yeah,” sighs Tony, “I got him.”

“Good,” she says back, and then, “Thanks.” She flips the mic back down and she’s not dismissing him but he’s never felt so dismissed in his life, and he  _ clearly remembers  _ life with Howard when he was five. Still, it’s nice that she trusts him to handle Peter, he guesses, putting the supplies back in their caches without waking Bruce, because he knows that she knows, well,  _ everything  _ everything. Her silent approval rests on his shoulders like a friendly palm-print, telling him it’s okay to be a monster, just this once, as long as he’s not too much of a monster. She’ll kill him, he knows, if he crosses that line, not that he’s at all interested in being anything but good for Peter. Besides, she’ll have to get there before Pep, and he’d give even odds that Pep could take her in that situation.

Cap sidles up to him and he rolls his eyes. Maybe he should just make a general announcement about how he’s got the sulking teenager, okay? He grunts at the man, refusing to turn to face him because in some ways, Tony acknowledges, he’s definitely still seven.

“You need any help with him?” asks Cap quietly.

Tony glances back at Peter, he can’t help it, studying the line of the younger man’s shoulders, hunched and tight. “No,” he says, “I think I know what to do. Had the same can’t-get-it-wrong back in the day, used to handling young hothead geniuses-” well, and just young high strung men, in general, Tony admits to himself “-got a speech, usually knocks it out of them for awhile.”

“Well, don’t forget this one has super strength and super speed,” mutters Cap and Tony does turn to look at him then, raising one eyebrow in shock. Cap shrugs and says, “Just take it into account, okay, keep yourself safe, too, he looks like he’s going to explode any minute.”

“...Got it,” Tony tells him, quellingly. He does not need advice on handling Peter from a man in tights, is what he’s thinking, though, and Cap acknowledges the tone with a lift of his chin, but he also backs off, which never happens. It feels like another hand-print on Tony’s back, telling him sure, he’s a monster, but Cap trusts him to handle Peter’s incipient meltdown. He finds himself rolling his shoulder-blades because it’s a metaphor, but it’s a powerful one.

He snorts and walks over to Falcon and says, in a quiet, snarky voice, “I got him, spread the word,” because that’s who’s going to check in next, he can feel the therapist like an itch between his shoulders.

Sam looks up at him and blinks and says, “I know.” Just that,  _ I know _ , and Tony nods, and rolls his shoulders again.

“Well, tell the others so everyone can stop taking me aside to give me the shovel talk,” he hisses.

Sam’s eyebrows raise and he smiles and says, “You deputizing me to be your social director, when I’ve been enjoying the dynamics here?”

Tony shakes his head, feeling some of the tension drain away as he realizes how absolutely ridiculous this must look from Sam’s vantage, watching everyone take a moment to check in with Tony, and  _ leave Peter alone _ like he’s some kind of ticking time bomb only Tony can diffuse. He shares a grin with Sam and Sam says, “I thought not. Who you figure is next?”

Tony considers his options- Rhodey is stuck at the Pentagon, Lang and wife are in another Quin headed home to pick up his kid from school, hopefully. “T’Challa?” he guesses. The Wakandans are strangely proprietary of Peter. Ramonda had taken Tony aside at his birthday for a full fifteen minutes of grilling on whether or not he’s feeding Peter the diet of a warrior because apparently he’s not filling out as much as she’d hoped. Nevermind that the kid has an  _ eight-pack _ and an ass Tony would have paid good money to possess, back in his playboy and plastic surgery days.

“My money’s on Bucky,” Sam says. “Or maybe Thor.”

Tony snorts. “Thor’s got his own little tantrum-thrower to deal with right now.” Loki’s locked down tight, mouth brace and all, opposite Peter in the hanger, and that’s, that’s a random coincidence that Tony finds absolutely hilarious. 

Sam laughs quietly and says, “Yeah, attention getting behavior is a little extreme once you get superpowered, I’ve noticed a trend.”   
  
“At least no one died this time,” sighs Tony.   
  
Sam nods, “Yeah, that’s how I know he wasn’t serious. Best guess from here is he wanted to make sure Thor knew he wasn’t happy.” They consider this together and Tony says, “Well, it’s a working theory, you gonna go all family counseling on them?”

“Hell, no, my dissertation was on shell-shock PTSD, I’m not touching them with a glaive,” laughs Sam.

T’Challa motions Tony over discreetly and he says, “Called it,” and Sam laughs again. Tony rolls his shoulder, feeling the weight of Sam’s trust, too, settle in next to the others, and saunters over to the king.

“The young warrior is caught in his own webs,” T’Challa says lowly, by way of greeting, Tony supposes. 

“Yeah, on it, there’s no space here to really dig deep,” Tony tells him. T’Challa nods and says, “Mother has asked that I remind you-”   
  
“We feed him,” protests Tony. “He eats all the time, so much food, I promise, I can have FRIDAY send over daily reports, he’s being fed, okay?”

“-that you are invited to our flood festival,” laughs T’Challa. “In three weeks, to celebrate the beginning of the rains. You should bring him, bring Pepper, bring anyone, it is a time of rejoicing.”

Tony says, “Tell Pep, put it on my calendar, he’ll love that, I bet.”

T’Challa laughs and nods. Tony rolls his shoulders as he walks back to drop into his seat, which is right next to-

“Christ, you’re just going to leave him like that?” asks Bucky in a hiss, gesturing sharply to Peter as Tony sits down. “Kid’s literally eating himself up, you’re just-”

“He’ll be fine, there’s nowhere to talk, he’s going to need to shout a little, I got a plan, he can last until we hit the Compound,” Tony counters, the pat phrases coming out in a barrage of words.

“I mean, we’re all right here, we can help,” mutters Bucky, twitching. “He wants to go off, it’s nothing we’ve never seen before.”    
  
Tony thinks of the way he intends to handle the situation, the shortcut he wants to try, and feels a smirk twitch his lips. “I got a plan,” he says.

Bucky glances over at him and says, “Another man with a plan, huh?”

“Well, it’s not spangled,” admits Tony. 

Bucky snorts and then says, quietly, “It’s just hard to watch him like this. I been there, I hate feeling like a fuck up.”

“I got him,” Tony assures him. “Not much longer, we’re only fifteen from the Compound, now.”

“I am glad,” interrupts Thor. “I was going to offer my services once we settle Loki into a comfortable room to stew, but I am glad you are going to take him in hand and straighten him out.” Tony reminds himself not to read anything into Thor’s misuse of the English language.

Bucky snorts and says, “He’s a little old for the woodshed experience, and he’s not, this isn’t anything he’s doing on purpose, you know.”   
  
Thor looks over Bucky’s head at Tony and Tony looks back and realizes, holy shit, Thor also knows  _ everything _ . How the fuck- the man is completely clueless, how did he-  _ everything? _ Thor nods, his face open and easy, as it always is, and Tony rolls his eyes because he forgets Thor is a god  _ all the time _ . Thor says, his lips twitching, “A good shouting match with a master without an audience does wonders for an apprentice’s sense of perspective.”

Tony snorts, and rolls his shoulders, accepting that support, too, as Bucky settles back and says, “Well, better you than me.”

They’re all behind him, then. He looks over at Peter, lets himself rest his eyes on the slim frame, since everyone knows he’s planning and since Peter is blocking out everything on the jet, potentially everything on earth given the stubborn hunch he’s in, so he won’t notice. He shifts his shoulderblades and takes out his phone, texting Pepper to let her know he’s got Peter and he’ll be busy for the next little while here.

_ Good luck, poor guy. Is he like Isaiah, you think? _ she texts back

Tony purses his lips and types  _ Nathan or Tyler _

_ Poor butt, then :) Bring him up for cuddles after, we’ll do dinner in-suite. _

His lips twitch, he knows how much she loves having someone to spoil. They’re all sparks and passion, between the two of them, but having one of Tony’s little side projects around always brings out her maternal side. It’s different with Peter, somehow, but then everything with Peter is different, including how he ruined Tony’s perfect streak of never even flirting with anyone underage. 

Peter doesn’t feel like a side project, and Tony knows Pepper fully intends to keep Peter around because she point blank declared it after that first kiss, yelling at Tony the next day to get some therapy because this is one relationship that he’s not allowed to fuck up with an unhealthy communication style. She’d been waving around paperwork he’d been avoiding talking about all week, though, so the threat was half new-Peter and half old-Pepper, Tony would guess.

He leans his head back against the seat, and takes the next fifteen for himself, to get himself calm and centered and ready. He’s pretty sure he can patch in the shortcut, it’s nowhere near his first rodeo and Peter is giving off all the signs it’ll work excellently for him, they’ve even talked around it, general discussion, but way more healthy than Tony’s usual dive into this pool. He still wants to be ready, because it’s Peter, and apparently Tony’s not great at calling things in relation to him and of all the things that cannot happen, hurting Peter is at the top of his list.

~~~

The kid goes off like a shot, the minute the ramp hits the ground, and how he can move so fast and still be slouching, Tony has no idea. Tony sighs, standing and stretching slowly. He doesn’t rush because, despite how everyone else is acting, Peter’s not a ticking time bomb, and Tony has complete confidence that the explosions won’t start until after he arrives on the scene.

“Good luck, boss,” chuckles Clint, and Tony says, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, don’t you have a toddler to go toilet train or something?” He tries to guess which direction Peter has headed and figures he’ll start in the lab, where most of the strongest foundations of their relationship have been, and be pleasantly surprised if Peter’s in his room, waiting for him. Because of course the kid is waiting for him, whether he knows it or not. Part of being a full-time whatever-they-are is that one side is always balancing the other. Peter needs him; he’ll be there.

~~~

As he approaches down the lab hallway, he can see Peter standing in front of his workbench in the lab, chest heaving with the effort of restraining all those angsty emotions and body so tense Tony’s muscles ache in sympathy. He’s wearing a pair of StarkTech scrubs, nothing else, and Tony snorts because  _ c’mon Trouble, try subtlety for once.  _ Easy up, easy down, and so thin they might as well not be on at all. Tony would bet Pepper a minor art collection that there’s no boxers under those pants, but there’s no way she’s take that bet, she’s no chump.

He takes a deep breath, just to steady himself, to remind himself he just needs to offer and listen, and gestures for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD DO I NEED A BETA, is this continuity even right? DOES EVERYTHING MATCH? JESUS. Katrinadax, jf4M, one of you drop me an email with all my continuity mistakes: tellmenoagainplease@gmail.com . I'll make it rain digital donuts, I can't keep flipping between the two anymore, I'm fried, plz send hlp.
> 
> Okay, back in five with the rest.


	3. Tony's Point of View pt 2

He’s half-expecting the immediate outburst, but not thrilled by the format. Peter works so hard on those webshooters, expends real effort and sweat, and watching him snatch one up and throw it against the wall reminds Tony of more than one incident where his own promising project of the week had been demolished just hours before he might’ve made a breakthrough.

There’s another one on the table, so it’s time to end that behavior, now, before Peter does more damage he’ll regret later. Tony calls up his sternest tone to say, “Peter!” Just that, just enough to get the guy focused on him for now.

Rather than whirling to snarl at him, as he’d hoped, Colin had used to take that bait so nicely, Peter does exactly what Tony was hoping to avoid, and starts directing all that mad at himself, inward, tapping his fists on the table. Tony is picturing every bloody set of knuckles he’s ever kissed and soothed as he directs FRIDAY to lock the lab down.

If Peter needs pain to shake out of it, to express it, fine, Tony’s 1,000% down for that, they’ve already established pain-as-stimulus does not equal bad for both of them, but he’s not about to give Peter the kind of leash and license that ends in broken wrists regardless of how fast it’ll heal. Peter is his, and he can do better than that.

As the walls opaque, Peter whirls to glower at him, and he suppresses the smile that goes along with the internal voice saying,  _ Ha, ha, made you look.  _ Time to, as Pepper would say,  _ manage expectations _ .

“If I have to take you down, I will. I don’t mind. It would be a pleasure.” It would, too. Given how terminally good Peter is, there’s little to no probability that he’ll ever have to use the SpiderZapper, but he’d like to see if it works as fast as he hopes. Later, maybe. First, this. “But I’m guessing there’s another way to deal with this tantrum you’re throwing, and hear me out, you can ask for it.” There, gauntlet thrown. Tony settles in to see which way Peter jumps, although given the familiarity of the last few minutes, it’s hard not to feel like it’s a little inevitable. He knows this road. He knows his sub.

“It’s not a tantrum,” shouts Peter, his voice choking. Tony thinks,  _ Gotcha _ , because it’s like he has a map of every stressline and fault and know just where to push Peter. He makes a mental note to always refer to this as a tantrum in the future, because it’s going to be an attention grabbing word forever for this kid, after what’s -probably- about to happen in the next few hours _.  _ “God, Mr. Stark, I’m not  _ five _ .” 

Oh, Tony is aware. Tony is so aware, those scrubs are making it very clear that Peter is not a kid anymore. Time to establish that, too. Tony is feeling anything  _ but _ paternal right now. He counters, “I threw a tantrum just last week and I’m pushing fifty. Tantrums have nothing to do with age and everything-” he steps forward, just one step, and Peter tenses.  _ Gotcha again _ , he thinks smugly, “-everything to do with what’s going on inside that head.” He tilts his head and settles back to just watch, alert for all the little signs that will tell him where they’re at. Peter holds himself so stiffly, hands clenching and unclenching as he cycles through thoughts and Tony can guess what he’s saying to himself, and he can’t wait to interrupt that inner monologue. 

When nothing happens after a long moment, and Peter isn’t calming down, he takes another step closer, just to push that boundary. Peter spits out, “Fuck  _ off _ ,” in a tone of voice he probably thinks is pretty impressive, given how sweetly good he is, America’s Sweetheart Superhero, but Tony’s literally fought Captain America to the death in Siberia, not to mention Thanos. He doesn’t hear anything but a scared sub who desperately needs to be reminded they’re not alone. 

Tony shakes his head and says, “Not gonna happen, Peter. I made you a promise that I wouldn’t let you get trapped in that pretty little head and I’m keeping it.” The “pretty” slips out without conscious effort, oops, not his fault,  _ he’s the one wearing scrubs _ , but, well, he did want Peter to focus on him.

“Fuck  _ off, _ ” repeats Peter, louder this time, sharper, more raw, and Tony hears in it that Peter doesn’t want to be talked off his ledge.  _ Too bad, _ thinks Tony. Time to remind him who’s in charge around here, who’s the final authority, who gets to call the shots. 

“My lab,” he says slowly, seriously.

“Then  _ let me out _ ,” shouts Peter, gesturing at the lockdown light above the door.

Tony knows just what to say to that, and he knows if the sub is going loud, go quiet, so he says calmly and firmly, “No.”

Peter startles visibly at the word of denial, and Tony presses his advantage, taking two steps, this time, pausing only when Peter’s fists clench and tremble.   
  
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Peter shouts at him, raising his hands in a warding off gesture, and his voice breaks with the force of all the emotions raging through him.

“You won’t,” Tony assures him, calmly, because he knows Peter. Peter hadn’t thrown the webshooters at him, although he could have. And he didn’t try to swing at Tony, although he could have done that, too. No, Peter is punishing Peter with those actions, and it all comes down to what he’s feeling. Time to talk about that. 

“Kid, you think I don’t know exactly-” and when Peter doesn’t shy away from his voice, he takes two more steps, until Peter tosses his head and shuffles his feet, and Tony almost smiles as he opens his hands to show he means no harm before continuing, “-exactly, what you’re doing here? I told you, I can reverse engineer every single issue, been there, done that-”   
  
“I fucked up!” shouts Peter, his voice cracking, “I could have- people needed me to- and I-  _ fuck-  _ I just-” 

This is it, time for cards on the table. Tony nods and says, “Yeah, I know it feels like that. And Steve might have some more to say about hanging back if you need to, to see where you slot in, but he’s the best tactician in the two generations, Peter, he’s allowed to know more than you.” He’s inching his way closer, closer, and he doesn’t think Peter is even aware of how close he’s letting Tony get, how much his body language is saying he wants Tony closer still.   
  
“That is  _ not _ -” protests Peter, his head coming up with a frankly adorable glare, especially given the way his arms open wide and almost close the gap between them with the gesture he makes. Oh yeah, Peter definitely needs a bunch of things, and the first one on Tony’s list is a  _ hug _ .

“That is exactly what you’re mad about,” interrupts Tony, and now he’s close enough, within arm’s reach, but Peter’s not ready for it yet, so he keeps talking, keeps coaxing him in, laying out all the cards. “You’re used to working solo, and that’s not what you do anymore kid, and that means sometimes other people are going to see you not be perfect.”   
  
Peter’s eyes drop as Tony talks, and Tony grins for a split second, unseen, keeping his voice steady by sheer strength of will, because it’s the same response Peter has in the bedroom when Tony starts a scene, instant deference, a refusal to challenge his authority. God, he loves his subby man.

Peter spits, “I’m not perfect, I’m not your fucking Perfect Peter Parker, sir, I’m so, I fucked up so bad, I just-” and Tony’s not listening to this stream of negativity anymore, time to break it up. He raises two hands to cup Peter’s chin, and when Peter doesn’t bite him, he lifts Peter’s chin up to look at him. Peter closes his eyes and shakes his head, a small shake. He’s probably a little overwhelmed, he gets like that sometimes when he gives over to Tony, and this is a lot of emotion to process right now. Tony decides not to push the eye contact. Peter can hear him just fine.   
  
“Yes you are,” he whispers, speaking to the words Peter has just thrown at him, but also speaking to his Peter, giving him what he knows Peter actually needs to hear. “You’re still mine, you’re still my perfect Peter Parker. Even if you fuck up, even if people get hurt or disappointed, you’re still mine.”

Peter chokes on a sob, and some of the tension leaves his body, and Tony thinks,  _ gotcha _ again, but this time there’s no mocking, just tenderness. He’s got him, he’s going to help, Peter’s not alone with all this, they’ll figure it out. 

“N-no,” protests Peter angrily, hands rising to wipe his face in a gesture that Tony allows because this is hard for Peter, he knows that, it’s hard to let people in. “N-no, this has nothing to do w-with  _ you.”  _ He spits out the last word, and Tony could almost laugh because while, yes, Peter’s right, the issue at hand has nothing to do with Tony, this particular  _ tantrum _ has everything do with Tony, it really does.   
  
“You’re right,” says Tony softly, gently, and Peter shakes his head, but he’s still tilting it to listen when he’s done, so Tony knows he should keep going. “This has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with you. But I think you should ask me for help.”

Peter’s eyes snap open, shocked. 

_ Now, _ says a voice from deep inside of Tony, and he 1000% agrees. Time to tease the concept of the shortcut and see if Peter’s interested in trying it. He says, “Yeah, look at me, kid. Think, use that beautiful brain. What’s the word for what you’re feeling, right now?”   
  
“Pissed,” Peter hisses at him, body tensing again, eyes glaring.

Tony shakes his head, because for a smart guy, he’s adorably committed to pretending like he’s a badass right now, standing in the lab in nothing but scrubs, eyes already leaking tears, it’s ridiculous, it really really is, and if he laughs, he shouldn’t be blamed for it. He corrects Peter, “No.  _ Guilty _ .”

He holds Peter’s chin tight while the sub reacts to that thought, and watches him connect with it and start to see the shape of the shortcut ahead, and he doesn’t frown when Peter starts stammering, “So what, what are you- you can’t-” because he has the patience of a saint and he can stay here all afternoon until Peter figures it out, if he has to. It’s no hardship. The scrubs are really sexy.

“Ask, Peter,” he says again, and watches Peter’s eyes dilate as he realizes what’s being offered to him.

Peter sways forward and then jerks back, and Tony can see the moment when he questions whether Tony is really offering this to him, right now, so he answers the question before Peter even has to ask it, “I am,” and then enjoys the relieved look in Peter’s eyes as he continues, “I know exactly how to help, I know exactly what you need, but I told you, you need to ask.”   
  
Tony settles in to wait, because Peter is such a good partner in this dance, he knows if he’s patient enough, this is exactly what Peter wants, anyway. He’ll ask. 

Sure enough, after frantically searching Tony’s face for a moment, Peter nods, but Tony’s a stickler on words. This first time, maybe he would help the sub out and  _ take _ , if he had to, but he’d much rather strip this down to its component parts and avoid building any bad habits about what consent  _ means _ . Consent is verbal, and pre-arranged, in Tony’s house, even if, okay, they hadn’t talked about this specific scenario because it came up really quickly. Sue him later, solve it now. 

He tells Peter, “I can take you down, but I don’t want to. I want you to be a good boy, and ask.” Peter’s eyes flutter a bit at the  _ good boy _ , like they always do, and Tony can feel the band around his chest loosen a little. This has, so far, been a delightful cakewalk. Peter is a fucking perfect angel and Tony is going to take care of him for as long as he’s allowed, as best as he can. For all this is heavy with emotions and tightrope walking, it’s so easy, the smoothest shortcut, the easiest long haul.

“Mr. Stark,” protests Peter, “I have super strength, it’s, you could in no way take me down.” 

Tony can’t help it, he chuckles and says, “You just go ahead and think that.”

Peter’s mouth opens, just a little, just a hairline, and Tony adjusts his stance, ready to encourage, ready to do whatever he has to do to make this part as easy on Peter as possible. Peter gets stuck on the words, sometimes, which means the words are even more important to Tony. Tony waits for three more heartbeats and then gently rubs Peter’s cheek with his thumb, a trick that’s worked in the past to unstick Peter from his shyness, and it works now, too, as Peter gasps out, “Please, Mr. Stark?”   
  
_ Damn _ , what those words  _ do to him. _ He’s never felt such an electric shock to his system before, not with anyone, but Peter says them and it’s like every nerve in his body springs to life. He’s not going to let Peter off easily, though, the words are so important to Peter, he struggles so much to say them and then gives in so easily once they’re said, sinking into subspace smoothly, so Tony hums, “Yes, Peter Parker? Please what?”

He watches Peter try to come up with things to say, things that might lead Tony to believe he’s said the word without  _ actually saying the word _ , and if he could bottle up this darkly playful feeling, heavy in his heart, he would be making so much money selling it on the black market. “I-I’ve been- I’ve been so- bad, Mr. Stark,” Peter finally whispers, and Tony hisses in a breath, because that’s so  _ perfect _ . They’ll play that way, some day, that’s so perfect for playtime. He wants to give Peter encouragement, acknowledge that that has a place here, too, between them, so he growls back, “Have you, Trouble, have you been such a bad toy, after all the spoiling I’ve done?”   
  
“S-spare the rod,” says Peter, wryly, nodding slightly. Tony could kiss him, it’s adorable, exactly the witty response he’d want if this was playtime.   
  
But it’s not, it’s not playtime. This is serious, and for all he’s trying to avoid the work, Peter’s still twisted up in knots and Tony still needs to hear the words, so he says, “Hm,” and tightens his fingers just a bit on Peter’s face.

“Well,” he says, after a second of searching his mind for how to get them back to the real issue, the real work here. He smiles and lets his voice get a little mockingly playful as he reminds Peter, “I know how to fix that. But you’re going to have to ask, Trouble.”    
  
Peter closes his eyes, blushing, and Tony’s breath stops because he’s absolutely going to have to kiss his sub, like, now, if he keeps this up, he’s actively killing Tony, he’s so perfect.

“I need- will you-” stutters Peter, and Tony knows that tone in his voice, just needs a little encouragement to unstopper it, to sink down and be so good for Tony.

“I’m waiting, Mr. Parker,” reminds Tony, deciding that’s what he’s going to call Peter right now just because he likes the sound of it, the reminder that there’s playtime and then there’s this, what this will be, available for Peter when he needs it. He gently shakes Peter’s jaw, the smallest allowable amount, eyes trained on his face, enjoying this moment, urging him to just say what they both want to hear. 

“But not forever,” he adds because  _ c’mon, Trouble, let’s go. _

“Spank,” gasps Peter, and he flushes again, eyes closed against the pressure of that word, it’s so adorable, Tony could listen to him say it and blush all night, he’s so  _ embarrassed _ by it and Tony has no idea why. Peter continues babbling, “Can you just, will you just- I need- Can we try, I feel so- please, I feel so  _ bad _ .”

_ Finally.  _ Tony drops Peter’s chin and wraps him up in a tight hug, crushing him, and says, “Good boy. Yes. You do need one, I can tell, you feel awful, and I can help with that.” He can feel Peter relax, can feel Peter’s hands cling onto his shirt, and he’s wanted to do this from the first moment after the fight, when he’d caught a glimpse of Peter, and they’ll be talking about that, too, much much later. First, this.

Eventually, Tony decides they should get started on the shortcut, and he doesn’t sigh, but only barely doesn’t sigh, as he starts with the first part of the shortcut, which is,  _ you do what I say _ . “But first you’re going to clean up the mess you made, what a tantrum.” 

Peter tenses and then stutters, “Y-yes, sir,” but he doesn’t move from Tony’s arms. Tony releases him and smacks him on the hip and emphasizes step one,  _ you do what I say _ , by growling, “Now.”   
  
Peter jumps, not entirely unexpected but only because the boy  _ reacts _ to Tony, it’s crazy how sensitive he is, and practically runs over to the wreck of the webshooter.

Tony glances around the lab, this scene would have played out so much more comfortably in Peter’s rooms, but whatever, and settles on the bench as the best place to get down to step two. He sits down at the end, and braces his feet, and after Peter deposits the pieces on his workbench and looks around wildly for him, he snaps his fingers and points to the floor in front of him, and makes his voice snap, too, as he says, “Here. Now, Trouble.” And then he winces because dammit, he’d decided to use Mr. Parker. Oh well, it’s their nickname, it’s grounding, it can only help Peter realize he’s safe slipping further down into subspace, right?

Peter stands in front of him for less than an actual heartbeat before he sinks gracefully to his knees and Tony almost chokes because he’s so fucking perfect. He’s so good, he tries so hard, it’s killing Tony that Peter is  _ his.  _ He notices Peter twisting his hands and decides not to leave Peter hanging too much longer, even if he’s such a goddamn treasure on his knees in those paperthin scrubs. Time to start step two.   
  


“You should feel just like that,” he scolds Peter, trying to shake him out of his head and into a space where he’s listening intently. Phase two,  _ you listen to me _ , begun. “It should be hard to look me in the eye right now. What a tantrum, what a childish-” Peter flinches, Tony notes it for future use “-way to get my attention.” He puts one single finger under Peter’s chin and Peter whimpers. He loves that sound, he didn’t even have to do anything, and Peter is already sliding into the right frame of mind for this shortcut. He pushes Peter’s chin up with the slightest pressure, there’s absolutely no resistance. 

“Look up,” he hisses, because he doesn’t want Peter to hide in his thoughts with those lidded eyes, and Peter’s eyes flinch upwards to meet his. They’re so wide, impossibly wide, and the anticipation in them is awe-inspiring.

“You are not a child, Peter Parker,” Tony tells him, because that reaction was an intense one and maybe he needs reminding that for all Tony calls him ‘kid,’ it’s teasing and playful, the same way he calls Cap ‘grandpa’ and Tony very definitely sees an adult sub in front of him right now. A hot adult sub, if Tony was being completely honest. An insanely hot adult sub, those fucking scrubs, Tony is _buying_ that production company if he doesn't already own it. Back to step two:  _ you listen to me _ . “It’s not okay to destroy the things you’ve worked so hard to build because you had a bad day.”   
  
“N-” begins Peter. Tony has no clue what he’s about to try to argue, here, and he has no interest in hearing it, anyway. He taps Peter on the lips with the finger that was under his chin, a move that might be playful in another type of moment, but is very definitely a direction right now, and shushes him before continuing, “Having a bad day is going to happen, I told you, you’re going to get things wrong-” Peter shifts and his eyes dart to the side, so Tony lifts his chin another half-inch - _ you listen to me- _ and waits until he makes eye contact again before continuing.

“You’re going to get things wrong,” Tony reiterates, because this part is so important, he knows exactly where all this anger comes from and he’s going to address it, bring it out into the open, make it something Peter can talk about and think about without having to break things, “and sometimes people are going to get hurt- and then we’ll come here, and I’ll help you make your peace with it. We’ll put it away, do you understand me? That’s what we’ll be doing here. We’ll go until it’s put away, however long that takes.”   
  
Peter processes those words, Tony loves watching him think. But when he nods instead of talks, Tony warns him, “Words, Mr. Parker.”   
  
“Yes,” whispers Peter. “I understand. But-”   
  
“But what, Mr. Parker?” asks Tony, staring at him. He can negotiate all night with the sub on his knees like this, safe in the tiny world Tony has created to keep the other world out.

“But- what-wh-what if it doesn’t work?” whispers Peter, and tears well up in his eyes. “Wh-what if it doesn’t work?”

Oh, yeah, that’s right, this is Peter’s first time. He has no idea that Tony know exactly where all his buttons are, knows just how to push them, has helped dozens of Kevin’s boys navigate their own reactions and stressors. Hell, minus the spanking that’s about to happen, this is almost exactly how Tony verbally takes down Pepper’s whiz kids who are struggling with their child-prodigyness in the real world, where no one is giving grades for good behavior. He thinks for a second, gathering what he knows, and then says, “Then we try something else, until we find something that does. But I know you, Peter Parker, trouble-mine. I know you, and I know it will.”

Peter nods, accepting, the last of the tension fading from him. He’s such a  _ good boy _ , thinks Tony, feeling ridiculously happy with how easy this is. This is easily the smoothest dance down this path he’s ever taken. Well, minus the webshooter. 

“Ready?” he asks, because  _ he’s _ ready. Peter snorts and shakes his head, and Tony can understand that, no one should be asked if they’re ready for a spanking, what the hell was he thinking. 

“Color?” he asks instead, trying for a more reasonable question. Peter startles, his eyes flying to Tony’s face, shock.  _ Oh, right, new, Jesus, stop, he’s new,  _ Tony chides himself, because Peter is so easy, it’s easy for him to forget they haven’t done this a million times before, now that they’re here. “Even for this,” he tells Peter calmly, reassuring, “even for this, it’s your choice. It has to be, Peter, it has to be your choice.”

“G-green,” stutters Peter, Tony feels some tension somewhere, between them, fade away. Tony watches him sink down a little further into subspace and wonders if praise will push him just a little bit farther, so he murmurs, “Good boy.”

He’s not necessarily disappointed when nothing seems to happen. Well, they’ll do this the hard way, then. Tony considers the scrubs and then smirks,  _ not that Peter’s making it all that hard to do it the hard way _ , and he almost chuckles as he says, “And look, you’ve made the hard part the easiest part.”

He hauls Peter up by the elbows and drapes the younger man over his lap with one hand while skimming the scrubs down almost in one single smooth move. He pats the upturned ass, making sure to angle Peter for maximum off-balance so the sub can’t push off and hurt them both in a wild moment, and muses, “Funny how it all comes back to you. Just like building a suit.”   
  
This isn’t playtime, though, and so Tony take a second to remember his role in this shortcut. Peter is in pain, he’s going to hurt himself, and it’s Tony’s job to make him take the pain out and look at it, and then deal with it. Step two-  _ you listen to me.  _ He takes a breath and growls, “Why are we here?”

“Because I fucked up,” says Peter, and okay, yes, now it’s pretty obvious the sub is new at this shortcut. They’ll take the scenic route, Tony decides, tapping his fingers on Peter’s ass and saying, “Wrong. Try again.”

Peter tries to twist to look up at him, and that’s a bad habit that’s going to get nipped in the bud right now, thankyousoverymuch. No sub of his is going to- impact play is nothing to fuck around with- so he twines his fingers through Peter’s hair, pulls it tight, jams his elbow hard on Peter’s back to push him down, and growls, “You stay where I put you.”  _ Learn fast _ , he thinks sternly.   
  
Peter gasps, “Yes, sir,” and holds himself still, and Tony can feel his breathing shallow out in caution. After a second, Tony figures his point has been made and he asks again, trying for the same growl, “Why are we here?”   
  
Peter shifts, and ventures, “Because I got mad?”   
  
Tony makes a sound like a buzzer, because no, it’s not playtime, but it’s not like he’s ever done playing, and slaps Peter on the ass and says, “Nope. Try again.” He can keep this up all night, if he has to, but he thinks he might have to move on to more scenery and come back to conversation, introduce the practice and then come back and address the concepts behind it.

“M-Mr. Stark,” whines Peter, and he loves it, the sub only whines when he’s fully comfortable with Tony, and feels safe, and that’s an excellent sign right now, “I- I don’t know.”   
  
Tony sighs, because he was right, scenic route first, and says, “Well, that’s one answer. Tell you what, I’ll let my hand do some lecturing, and then we’ll talk again. You stay,” and he deepens his voice into his truest growl, because  _ impact play is no place to fuck around _ , “where I put you.”   
  
Peter nods, frantically, and then gasps, “Yes, sir,” again, remembering to use his words, and Tony is so proud of him.

He’s not one to fuck around, not at first, he knows Kevin likes warm ups, and that’s fun for playtime, teasing, but this isn’t playtime, and so he skips all that and hauls back and smacks the butt in front of him. The faster he gets Peter to the tipping point, the quicker Tony can get him the sensation he needs, the easier it will be for him to focus on the words Tony is giving him over the words on that damn loop in his head.   
  
“Sh-shit,” Peter swears, feverently.   
  
“Language,” grunts Tony in response because that’s not happening, either, Peter is a  _ good boy, _ and Tony wants him in that headspace. He shifts Peter, getting a better grip on him, and starts to take the scenic route. He loves the scenic route, anyway, there’s all the twitches and noises and deep deep shiny cherry red cheeks.

It’s not long- Tony’s palm is red and so is Peter’s ass, but given the kid’s healing factor, it’s a surprisingly short period of time, before Peter is whimpering and whining, and jumping when Tony’s hand lands. He gives him a few more smacks, just to be sure Peter is focused and available for discussion, and decides to try talking to see if they’ve hit that threshold yet, and if Peter is ready, if this is enough, yet. He says, “You’re doing so good,” emphasizing the last two words with his hand, and Peter moans. Yeah, he’s ready. 

“So I think it’s time to try talking again. Why are we here, Peter?” he repeats, trying to keep his tone conversational and switching to gentle swats to make sure he’s heard.  _ Shit _ , he’d decided on  _ Mr. Parker _ , he really  _ is _ getting rusty at this.

“I-I-I asked,” chokes Peter.

“Oh, clever, Mr. Parker,” praises Tony, genuinely pleased. “Yes. We’re here because you asked.”    
  
Next question, “Why did you ask?”  _ C’mon, Trouble, be smart, figure it out, follow me down this path. _

Peter flushes at the praise, like always, it does interesting things to the skin on his neck that Tony is familiar with, and moans a little. 

“I-I n-needed- OW- it?” he stutters. The  _ ow _ is the cutest noise Tony has ever heard mid-spanking, but he’s going to die laughing if it happens again, so he starts rubbing Peter’s butt instead.

“You did,” he agrees. “And I am always, always, going to give you just what you need, I told you that, I am committed to getting you what you need, Mr. Parker.”

Peter flushes, and then he tenses, and Tony can tell something in what he just said is hitting the wrong kind of nerve.

“Stop. Thinking,” he growls, and then has to bite his lip because Peter tenses,  _ everywhere,  _ clearly expecting a thump. After a second, he can’t hold it in, and he starts chuckling, watching Peter relax slowly until he’s back, draped over Mr. Stark’s lap again. Peter is killing him, here. He’s so responsive, so delightful, such a lap full of the best kind of Trouble.

“So, Peter, I know why I thought you needed this,” and he starts gently swatting again, just reminding him of where they are and what they’re doing right now, and also because when Peter had tensed, he wasn’t going to smack him but he really, oh God, he really wanted to in that moment. Keep his hands busy, keep them busy.

Peter mumbles something without words and pulls a hand up to scrub his eyes, and Tony allows it, because it doesn’t move him from the safe position Tony has put him in.

Tony continues, “But why do you?”

“I broke the web shooter,” says Peter, clearly just striking out at random, and that’s  _ right _ , he  _ did _ break the web shooter, so Tony gives him a heavy smack and decides, sure, they can start there. He says calmly, “Destroying the things you’ve worked so hard to build is stupid, and dangerous, and it won’t happen again, I’m making sure of it, trust me, Mr. Parker, you’ll find a different way to get my attention next time you need me, but that’s not why you need this.” 

He gives Peter’s ass another heavy thudding smack for emphasis, and Peter groans and splutters, tears falling from his eyes as he clearly gives in and starts babbling, “I fucked up, today, at the- in D.C., I just- I didn’t do anything right, I was, fuck, Tony, I did everything wrong and Clint woulda had the guy but I wrecked his angle and-“

Tony’s heard about enough of the words that Peter’s been using to beat himself up, so he abruptly lifts his knee, switching the angle, and then he  _ gets to work. _

Peter is quickly overwhelmed, and Tony is paying close attention to every single breath and cue Peter gives him, but he doesn’t pause as Peter cries out, “Please, Please, Tony, sir, please,” because Peter asked for this, and he knows his colors, they’ve practiced using them, and Peter knows begging is  _ not  _ saying  _ red _ . 

He says, “Peter, your sit spot, sit spot, my hand, now that we’re all introduced, I’d appreciate it if you’d try to use your brain instead of your butt and answer my damn question, Peter.” 

Peter is absolutely sobbing, struggling for breath, and Tony gives him a few more swats to that super sensitive zone before he’s certain that he’s made an impression and those words won’t be coming back out to bother Peter for awhile. He eases Peter down, back into that perfect first position, and says, quieter, more conversationally, “Think, kid, you’re so smart. Was Clint pissed? Was I? Was anyone?”

Peter shakes his head, and Tony waits a heartbeat to see if he’ll find his voice on his own before lifting his hand from Peter’s ass. Peter is quick to shout, _ “ _ No! No one was mad, no one was, everyone was- it was just me,” he whispers finally, his voice trailing off, gulping for air. “It was just me that was mad.”

“Yeah,” says Tony, rubbing that red ass again, rewarding good insights, new ways of thinking about the situation. “Yeah, kid, it was just you, eating yourself up, over two seconds that happen fifty times every fight, Clint always has to find another angle, fuck, 90% of the calculations I have FRIDAY running are just new angles.”

Peter flushes with color. 

“So let’s talk about  _ that,”  _ says Tony, and the swats start again, enjoying the ruby red color of Peter’s ass probably a little too much. “That’s called, getting trapped in your own head because you think you need to be perfect, and so help me God, if it takes talking to your butt because you won’t listen to me any other way, we’re going to work on that. That’s unreasonable. I understand it, I know where it comes from, but you’re going to do better. What does Cap say you need to do when you need a moment to re-group?”

Peter is crying, his chest heaving, and he mumbles, “g’way, g’back.”

“Yes, good boy. And did you give yourself that moment today? When Cap ordered you back, did you go?”

Peter shakes his head, helplessly. Tony waits a moment to see if he can find his words, and then gives him a hard smack, and Peter yelps, “No, no sir.”

“Mm. Because you’re perfect and you don’t need a minute.”

Peter blushes again, and this time there’s a sob, and then he’s gasping, “‘M sorry, ‘m sorry!”

“You should be,” says Tony ruthlessly.  _ Learn faster. _ “We know what you need, what any of us needs, everyone gets told to regroup, but you have to listen to us.”

Peter nods and whimpers, “Yes, sir, ok.”

“So, the reason you are here-“ and Tony gives him another big swat to remind him of where  _ here _ is, making the sub moan, “is what? Aside from that absolutely. aw. ful. temp. er. tan. trum. earlier,” and he punctuates every single syllable of the last words with a hard smack that rings through the lab, and then waits for Peter to be done sobbing to hum inquisitively. 

“‘M, ‘m not supposed to get mad at myself?” whimpers Peter, biting his already over-bitten lip, but they’ll talk about  _ that _ later, too.

“Close,” concedes Tony. Well, it’s Peter’s first time, sure, he’ll help him out a little, it’s not like the thinking Tony wants him to get to has ever been an easy leap and other than the webshooters, Peter really has made this  _ so easy _ . “How about, try, when I mess up, and I need help, I’m supposed to ask for help.” 

Tony could feel hypocritical, but as he keeps pointing out, he wants to do  _ better  _ by Peter, so he ignores any sensation of being a hypocrite and concentrates on the sub draped over his lap.

“Oh,” says Peter, like a lightbulb is suddenly turning on in his head.

“Yeah, oh,” mocks Tony, he can’t help it, Peter’s fucking adorable. He’s  _ unreal _ in how perfect he is, for this kind of not-play, if he ever tells Kevin the man is going to swallow his tongue in jealousy. He gives the sub a moment, but before Peter can lose the whole point of this exercise, he continues, “So let’s let that sink in a little, color?”

Peter hesitates but when he says, “Green,” there’s not even a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“Good boy,” praises Tony. Peter shifts, flushing again, and Tony smirks, because he knows exactly what those two little words do to Peter and Peter is his favorite toy. “Think about why you’re here,” he suggests, and then he  _ applies himself to his craftsmanship.  _

It’s been years since he had a butt of his own to paint such pretty shades of red, and since Ian and his red scarf, he hasn’t even really sought out Kevin and his usual pack of miscreants, so he lets himself enjoy the moment. Peter is  _ his _ , completely  _ his _ , and this is one of the things he lets Tony do  _ to _ him, as much as the whole shortcut process is a thing Tony gets to do  _ with _ him. Tony has had what he sometimes thinks of as a million relationships, kinky, vanilla, every shade and flavor of sex and friendship and romance, and he’s well past being ashamed of what he likes. He loves Pep, the things they do together ratchet him up to the flaming point of the sun. And he likes  _ this, _ a wiggling, willing- well, okay, mostly willing, it’s not playtime, he gets that, the shortcut is a little hard on the sub- but a willing enough partner, and the power to do whatever he wants. Mostly, he likes making patterns with his hand, circles, figure eights, xs and os, and then switching it up unexpectedly to startle them and wake them up a bit. He likes that every single sound is magnified, every single twitch rivets his attention. He loves how much he knows every single thought in Peter’s head right now, because it’s all pouring out of him, catharsis achieved.  _ Lesson learned _ , he hopes, but he’s guessing it’s probably going to need reinforcement, it’s a big one, and buried deep.

He knows it’s all going to be over so very soon when after about the fourth heavy swat, Peter begins apologizing and gasping, and slipping into his usual subspace, pliant and a little overly apologetic at the moment, it’s adorable, who is the kid even apologizing to? Tony’s not mad or hurt, but they all do that, it’s like the unwritten rule of stage three. That’s okay. The first part and second part are for Peter, really, and  _ this _ part is for him, and the next part will be for both of them. It’s all about balance.

Phase three:  _ you let me be in charge _ , complete success

Tony’s pretty sure Peter’s so deep down he doesn’t even notice that Tony’s stopped spanking and started rubbing soothing circles on his back. He catches himself humming, tunelessly, a hum he vaguely remembers from when he was sick and Jarvis would- well, just a comfortable hum he remembers. He’s feeling relaxed, himself, relaxed and warmed, and that’s exactly the best sign of stage four,  _ you let me take care of you _ .   
  
He lets Peter rest there, and only when Peter starts stirring does he smile and ask, quietly, his heart so fond it hurts, “You back with me, Trouble?” 

And Peter nods, and then croaks, “Yessir.”

Tony hums again, his fingers never stopping their little caresses. “Color?” He asks, after another long moment. He knows the answer, but it’s part of the shortcut to  _ ask _ .

“Green,” croaks Peter. 

“Your butt says red,” teases Tony, gently, helping set the stage for step four by keeping his voice quiet, his touches featherlight, “but we’ll test that to see if it’s a lie on another day, for fun, you’ll see, this can-” wait, no, they already negotiated, Tony  _ knows _ Peter’s willing “- _ will _ \- be fun too, but that’s not what you needed today, was it?” 

Peter starts crying again, quietly, which was not his intention, he wasn’t  _ trying _ to kill the sub with kindness, it’s just kinda impossible not to feel for him. Tony shifts Peter to a crouching slouching kind of stand, most of his weight still rested on Tony’s shoulder, and slides the scrubs -still wrapped around Peter’s ankles, he was such a  _ good boy _ and didn’t even  _ kick-  _ up over his hips, careful not to let the fabric slide across the skin. He knows all the best ways to hold a freshly spanked sub, and he picks the kindest he can for this position, twisting Peter so that he’s straddling Tony’s lap, and his flaming butt is resting between Tony’s knees.

Tony leans forward and kisses Peter gently on the lips, he can’t help himself, the tear tracks and bitten lip look is just  _ adorable _ . He leans their foreheads together- stage four is a whole lot of touching, comforting both of them, bringing them both back to the real world, and says, “Hey, you ok in there?” He’s looking at Peter, but Peter hasn’t opened his eyes once through the whole process, although he has stopped crying, and that’s good.

Peter snorts and mumbles, “My butt’s on fire and I have to go apologize to like  _ everyone _ for being an ass, and I’m, I’m so sorry, Tony.”

“I’ve got you,” Tony says, answering the last part first, and he loves the way Peter blinks his eyes open in confusion. “I told you, I’m not going to let you get trapped in your head, and you are not the first perfectionist young man I’ve ever pulled onto my lap for a quick perspective re-alignment, not by a long shot. Comes with the subby, sometimes.”

Peter twitches and says, “I’m so weird, Tony.”

“Unique, maybe,” offers Tony, careful not to add censure when he knows Peter is blown wide open right now and any criticism can feel like acid. If this discussion were happening elsewhere, he’d be shaking him and shouting,  _ You are perfect. You are unreal. _ He sighs and says, “But handcrafted, everything I love best,” instead, which is also true.

Peter takes a deep breath and sighs it out. Some of the remaining tension leaks out and Tony presses another kiss to his lips. “C’mon, let’s go lay down on the couch, you’ve had the worst kind of day.” Although Tony figures he fixed some of it and, in the balance, if Peter’s anything like Nathan and Tyler, he’ll remember it as a positive turning point in his life. They still come up to Tony and give him hugs at events.

Peter shakes his head, and literally clings to Tony’s chest, which is- well, he forgot how good that feels. After a moment, he remembers there’s a perfectly good couch waiting for them and he coaxes, “Hey, I promise, I won’t go anywhere, I just want to stretch out with you, Peter.”

Peter starts to pout, and Tony can see he’s rising up out of that deep subspace when he bites it to prevent it from sticking out. He tries not to laugh, not even to chuckle, and instead concentrates on saying, “It’ll be just as good, I promise, I don’t lie to you Peter.”

Peter nods, so Tony places him on his feet gently, and Peter kind of wobbles there until Tony stands up, too, and says, gently, “Ten steps,” and then wraps his arms around the younger man in a modified frog march, and moves them both to the couch. Tony kicks off his shoes, and grabs a blanket from a wall drawer. He thinks for a solid second about the best way to do this, and then slides onto the couch, scooting way back. Peter is clearly coming up, so to make him laugh, Tony makes grabby hands at him. Peter clumsily climbs on top, hissing when the fabric of the scrubs pulls taut. Tony absolutely adores these scrubs and he’s requesting Peter wear them every time they do this.

“Shh,” he soothes Peter, instead of grabbing him, and then he’s wrapping Peter up in his arms, in between his bent knees, so careful to avoid his ass, tucking Peter tight against his chest, and carding his fingers gently through Peter’s hair. He throws the blanket over both of them. The motion is a little jarring, there’s no helping that, and Peter moans. It settles, featherlight, against the skin of Peter’s exposed back. Peter’s weight is pleasant and warm on Tony, and he loves this part so much. Peter is clearly overstimulated by everything, crispy fried done, so Tony kisses his eyelids and says, “Shh, just relax, I’ve got you. Shh.”

And then he lays there, Peter stretched out mostly on top of him, and just basks in this feeling, the wonder of a good job, the shortcut worked,  _ holy shit _ . He knew it would, but now that it has, it’s kind of a big deal,  _ holy shit. Peter is perfect. _ He lays there, holding his sub, his perfect Peter Parker, trouble in so many forms, and just lets himself feel floored for the longest time, running a hand up and down Peter’s back, soothing little circles, loving everything about this moment.

Peter shifts, and Tony releases him a little, and Peter lifts his head for a kiss, whispering, “Thank you.”

“For this?” asks Tony mischievously, “Or for the spanking?”

“For everything,” Peter tells him seriously.

“Mm, ok,” says Tony, and gives him another gentle kiss. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You did,” Peter assures him, which feels  _ great _ . Peter gets a thoughtful look on his face and then asks, “Did you, with Eddie, was it like-“

“Oh God,” groans Tony, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling because of course Peter wants to bring up the brat right now, way to spoil the mood, “ _ Eddie.  _ I won’t break confidentiality, I know you’re not asking me to do that-“ and Peter shakes his head vehemently, no surprise, he’s such a good boy- “but in some ways, yes, and in some ways, no. I always make sure whoever’s over my lap knows the reason we’re there, let’s just say that. And just like you today, Eddie was surprised to find out it wasn’t why he thought it was.” Really surprised. And, if Tony has anything to say about it, permanently respectful of the rights of others to  _ not play _ . He’s scowling, and he’s glad Peter’s not looking up at him anymore.

Peter wiggles just a bit closer to Tony and Tony’s really trying not to let anything stir, because talk about mixed messages, this is  _ not playtime _ , but Peter’s not making it easy on him. “I’m sorry,” Peter whispers again, against the other man’s throat. Yeah, that’s not helping, either.

“I’m not,” Tony says solidly, and then almost loses his control when Peter blinks at him, he’s so fucking cute when he’s confused. “What, did you think I’m such close friends with Kevin because I like his cheesecake connection?” Peter giggles, which makes Tony smile and continue talking, because this is so important, ”I like that I can do this for -with- you, that we have this shortcut we can use. Peter, you trust me with so much- so much, it floors me. It guts me, how much you trust me. And I am always, always going to give you what you need. You don’t have to apologize for it, I love it.”

Peter is staring at him, but then he closes his mouth and kisses Tony, and Tony loves the sheer amount of enthusiasm in it. 

“Yeah,” breathes Tony after a second, because none of this is helping him with his mixed messages problem, “yeah, me too, kid, ditto. You’re mine, now, Trouble, the whole kit and kaboodle.” Peter nods, happily, and lets his head rest back on Tony’s bicep as they breathe together.

“The web shooter was already broken,” says Peter, abruptly, after an unknowable amount of time has passed just laying there, basking. “It got borked like, that third pass.”

“Oh, that makes so much more sense,” laughs Tony, because that had actually been kind of worrying him, that Peter was down here, way worse off than Tony had expected, so full of anger that he’d destroy something he loved. It had been such a shocking moment, although, in a flash of insight, he’s glad he didn’t know so he could handle it just the way he did, it’s clearly made an impression on Peter. “I thought- well, you still shouldn’t throw things, but seriously my perfect Peter Parker, I thought-“

“I figured,” agrees Peter without any hint of censure. “I won’t, you don’t have to worry, I’ll come to you, first, before, because it worked-”  _ yay, _ thinks Tony,  _ verbal confirmation, so proud- _ “but I wanted you to know, too. It doesn’t change anything,” he offers, his nose scrunching up and Tony is going to be forced to ravish him, it’s not his fault, he’s  _ unreal _ .

To delay the ravishment, he laughs, “No, it was still a bratty little tantrum, worthy of Eddie, Mr. Parker. Regardless of when it first broke, it didn’t deserve that treatment.”

Peter blushes and says, “I was just so mad,” and Tony loves the way he says it, like it’s done and put away and so far in the past that it’s gone already.

“Mm. Well, behave. Come to me, I’ll help,” warns Tony, to reiterate the central message, here, just one more time, and his heart leaps around in his chest when Peter melts into him and murmurs, “Of course, yessir. I- I didn’t-“

“Shh,” Tony shushes him, rubbing a hand along his back. After another long, smooth moment, Tony remembers something, and asks, “What was that about apologizing to everyone?”

“Mm?” Peter tilts his head back to look up, shamefaced, at Tony. “Oh, just, I was a jerk, should say sorry about that. Y’know.”

He is  _ unreal _ . He walks around thinking he’s a feral mutant tiger and he’s a  _ kitten _ . Tony scoffs and says, “If that was you being a jerk- Peter, did you even snap at anyone? Do you think anyone was hurt by your sulking the whole trip home?”

“No-o,” mumbles Peter, burrowing into Tony’s chest. Tony loves all these reactions, he’s adding sulking to the list. Sulking and tantrum and he’s got some hope for “naughty,” eventually, given all these delightful blushes. But childish is going on the other list, for use only as a nuclear attention grabbing option, aftercare to follow immediately for both of them. 

“And we’ve already established no one was mad,” teases Tony, back on topic, gently patting Peter’s ass with one hand to reassure himself that Peter is an adult, okay. An adult.  _ Ew _ .

Peter hisses, “No-oo,” and that’s adorable, he’s actively going to die, is Peter wiggling, trying to avoid a tap on his ass? A tap? After Tony wore out his arm? Where is that healing factor he’s always bragging about?

Well, Tony’s going to have to explore that response. He continues teasing, saying “So what in the world do you think you’ll be apologizing for, and tread carefully little spider, I can go all night if we need to.” He pats, again, and Peter fucking  _ squeaks _ , he definitely fucking  _ squeaks _ , and Tony has to work hard to resist the urge to pat again because he’s about three seconds from laughing his head off. His favorite toy has a  _ squeaker option. _

Peter, however, clutches at Mr. Stark’s shirt, and then stills, and says, his voice wry through all the rawness, “Well obviously I was going to apologize for not being perfect but I see the error of my ways, Mr. Stark, and I probably won’t, now.” 

Tony lets out the chuckle he’s been keeping inside because Peter is  _ unreal _ , he’s  _ unreal _ , and Tony loves this. Peter melts against him, so step four is going pretty well, Tony thinks.

“Smart spider,” murmurs Tony in admiration, and his hand rubs Peter’s back again, and he would have bet money Peter couldn’t melt any further, but he’d have lost.

They lay like that for a long time, long enough for Peter to start dozing on and off. Tony loves it, loves this lapful of freshly spanked sub, melted all over him, warming him straight to his bones. After a bit, though, he hears Peter’s stomach rumble and he asks, “Hey, how are you doing, you hungry?”

Peter rubs his eyes and mumbles, “I could eat.” He’s so fucking cute.

FRIDAY chimes and says, “Pepper is having shawarma delivered in approximately 30 minutes, gentleman, as is traditional when Loki goes completely off his rocker. There’s some being delivered to the suite.”

Tony laughs, his life is perfect. Peter burrows into his chest for a moment before muttering, “Shower?”

“Yeah, ok,” sighs Tony, because he loves the way Peter smells, just a little stronger than usual, similar to the smell after Tony sexes him up for hours, but his own funk is probably choking Peter at this point, the suit is not up to the task. “That’ll probably be good, too.” He doesn’t want to, but it’s the smart thing to do.

“Ok, up, Trouble,” teases Tony after giving in and enjoying another long moment. “Let’s go find out how much hot water is gonna singe that sunburn.”

Peter chokes, “Mr. Stark!”

“What, Mr. Parker?” Tony teases back, patting Peter on the hip and lifting them both into a sitting position. Peter makes an interesting noise before taking a deep breath and standing. Tony stands with him, because he can’t quite seem to let go right now, his hands all over Peter as they walk to the shower. In his defense, Peter’s also kinda handsy with him, too, although he’s got the most adorable frown developing on his face.

“I’ve got you,” Tony murmurs, because if he could magic Peter into staying in subspace for life, he would do it. “Stop worrying.”

Peter smiles at that, and turns on the water, sliding the scrubs off his butt.

“What a lovely shade of pink,” coos Tony, teasing, pulling off his watch and putting it on a shelf. Peter flushes and Tony laughs, “oh look, both sets of cheeks can color coordinate, nice feature!” Peter shoves him a little, and he laughs again, shucking his clothes with much less care than his accessories. 

“Get in,” Tony directs Peter, and then burst into laughter at the yelp Peter lets out as the water hits his raw butt and stings. “Serves you right, you shouldn’t be able to sit for a week,” he teases, “but with that amped up immune response, if I ever want you squirming when you sit for a week, I can tell it’s going to be through daily application of attention to your butt.” He wouldn't mind, this was goddamn amazing from start to finish, he's never felt so completely relaxed and uncomplicated in his life.

Peter flushes and glares at the shower wall. Tony wraps his arms around him and nuzzles his neck and says, “I’d be cautious about sulking, Mr. Parker,” and tickles his ribs until Peter is laughing out loud and kissing him. 

“N-never, Mr. Stark,” Peter gasps, laughing up at Tony under the spray of water. “Never going to sulk, p-promise,” and Tony doesn’t have the heart to tell him that’s absolutely a lie, so instead he says, “Perfect Peter Parker, if you do, I’ve got you. I’ll take care of it.” 

Tony loves that the shortcut worked, and he laughs as Peter dumps shampoo on his hair and starts scrubbing it in. His life is  _ unreal  _ right now, but he’s going to keep working to deserve it. He may be a monster, pretty sure the jury would convict, but he has metaphorical handprints on his back and he didn’t let them down, a happy, settled sub rubbing soap through his hair, being so careful not to get any in his eyes, and a gorgeous, powerful woman upstairs who bought him shawarma. He can be a monster, if this is a package deal. He’d choose monster any day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CONTINUITY CHECKING IS KILLING ME AND COFFEE CAN'T HELP ME *keyboardsplat*

**Author's Note:**

> So from here on out, it's just going to be throwing them into fun situations to make more porn for us all. I've already got a chapter for Mile High done, and one where there's some Hurt/Comfort/WhompPeter/FreakedOutTony action. Feel free to leave inspiration/requests in the comments, I can't guarantee I'll write them but you might spark something!
> 
> Also, please, this, like, it's Chapter 13, y'all. If you made it all the way here just to criticize me, but you haven't bothered to chat with me in the comments? Just go away, you gigantic dork. PRAISE ME FIRST, then correct my spelling. (THEN PRAISE ME AGAIN. I need that compliment sandwich. Unless you want to beta. Then, I guess we'll figure that out. EDIT: TURNS OUT, I LOVE WHEN MY BETAS ARE BLUNT. THANKS, GUYS.)


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